


Stirred Up

by Satine86



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, Mild Language, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5157449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Varric signed up for The Great Thedosian Cook Off, he never imagined things would get this heated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stirred Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OrilliaOrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrilliaOrange/gifts).



> So apparently if I spam watch a bunch of cooking shows on Netflix, I'm easily influenced into writing a cooking show AU! Also loads of thanks to Orillia!

His cheek stung. 

The room was deathly quiet, even the usual hum from all the cameras and equipment seemed to have been dulled into a stunned silence. 

“Cassan--”

“Don't you dare.” She was shaking, and he knew that it wasn't necessarily from anger. “You have said more than enough already, Varric.” 

With that she turned on her heel and fled the room, a camera crew hurrying after her. Varric lifted a hand and laid it against his cheek. It felt hot, almost like a burn, and he knew he'd be sporting an ugly welt for a while. Honestly, it was the least he deserved after that abysmal display. 

The remaining film crew were in his face, asking questions, aiming for a reaction. So he gave them one, he reached out and forcefully covered the lens of the camera pointed directly at his face.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he growled, glaring at the producer until they took a hint. They called back the crew like a gaggle of puppies, saying to give him 'some space.' 

Varric crossed the room, headed toward the stairs, and caught Sera's shocked face. All the laughter and teasing gone. Another reminder of how badly it had gone, how much he had fucked it all up. Once he was upstairs he passed by the door that lead to the room Sera and Cassandra shared. She was in there. 

He could try to apologize. Reaching up and touching his cheek again, he thought it best to wait. Everything was still fresh, too raw. 

So instead he continued down the hall to the room that had once held many of his fellow competitors, now it only housed him. Flopping onto his bed, he flung an arm over his eyes and wondered how it had come to this.

*** 

He hadn't wanted to sign up for a cooking competition, but how could he have possibly said no to Merrill's puppy eyes as she held up the entry form. 

“You could have your own restaurant, Varric!” she had cried, pointing out the grand prize. 

So he'd said to hell with it, and filled the form out. Besides, he'd thought, what were the odds he would get picked? A small time chef working in a family restaurant. He couldn't even claim to run it. Bartrand did, in name anyway. The food though? That was all Varric. Had been since their mother had died. 

When he eventually got the call for an audition, he'd nearly dropped the phone into a pot of chicken stock. 

Once he got to Val Royeaux, to the studio, everything had been a breeze. Naturally charismatic, and a damned good cook, he wowed the producers until he made it to the top twelve. Those slated to appear on air. 

They'd all been packed into a house near the studio, something about letting the viewers see them 'at ease.' But really it was just a ploy so they'd all get on each others nerves. Which had worked splendidly. 

One sarcastic argument with Cassandra Pentaghast, sous chef to an esteemed Nevarra restaurateur, had been all it took for them to become the producer's favorites. From that point on they were always thrown together. Either their work stations were next to each other, forcing them to share ranges and ovens and fridges. Or paired up for group exercises. 

The result had been… explosive. 

Of course, that had been the desired outcome. Fun for the cameras, yelling and cursing and arguing. Noises of disgust and rolled eyes. 

They were complete opposites in the kitchen. Where he was creative, she was structured. Varric liked to relay on his senses, liked to smell and taste and feel what he was cooking. Cassandra relied on tried and true recipes, every step neat and orderly. 

Put simply: she painted by the numbers while he colored outside the lines. And because of that, they drove each other mad. 

The producers ate it up, encouraged it. 

Varric had played along. 

It was easy, in the moment, to goad her, and she would always react in kind. Eventually, as time went on and their fellow contestants dwindled, they fell into a routine with their bickering. At least in front of the cameras. Back at the house, though, things were different. 

He had always appreciated her dry sense of humor, which had started to shine more and more as she got comfortable with everyone in the house. But mostly him. They had fun together, playing with recipes in the kitchen and learning from each other. 

Things were friendly. Maybe a little more than friendly. 

So why, during the week of semi-finals, had he decided to pick on her at the house? Oh, sure, it had been a suggestion from the producers. They were always trying to stir shit, that didn't mean he had to take the bait. Didn't mean he had to lash out and hurt Cassandra. 

Varric winced as the make-up artist tried to cover his red cheek. 

“It's swollen a bit, you're going to look puffy no matter what.” 

“Like I care?” 

She tsk'd and finished up, letting him make his way to the studio kitchen so he could get his mic and battery pack. Cassandra didn't even look at him as he took his mark behind his station. 

Even with all the makeup for the camera she looked pale. 

Sera was stationed in front of them, and she kept casting wary looks over her shoulder. He wanted to tell her to relax, to just focus on her dish… whatever that may be. 

Instead he remained quiet and tried not to stare at Cassandra. 

She hadn't spoken to him in two days, not since she had slapped him. He couldn't really blame her, and he knew she needed time. So he was giving it to her. 

Hell, maybe he would be sent home today and then she'd get all the time in the world. That thought wasn't exactly a pleasing one.

When the cameras started rolling and the judges came out, giving them their challenge, Varric shoved it all aside and set about completing the task before him. He and Sera talked shit to each other, a welcome and familiar thing. 

Cassandra remained silent and still too pale for his liking. 

The time ticked by, it was down to the wire and Varric frantically plated his food. Once the buzzer went off, and they were told to step back, he looked at Cassandra. She had been watching him, clearly, her plate already finished and immaculate. 

He offered her a tight smile. She looked away, instead focusing on the judges. 

Varric barely paid any attention to the judging, just going through the motions. His plating had been atrocious, thrown together slapdash. Though, it must've tasted damned good because the next thing he knew, Sera was shaking hands with the judges and barely holding back disappointed tears. 

She hugged Cassandra, then him, and took her leave. 

Then he and Cassandra were directed to stand in front of the judges, who offered up their congratulations for being the final two. It was all so surreal to Varric. 

As he walked off set to record his post show commentary, he thought that if it was just the pair of them in the house, Cassandra would _have_ to talk to him again. 

***

Oh, how wrong he had been.

The house might as well had been a crypt in the week leading up the final. They had their share of work, recording voice overs and various commentary. They had a cooking drill (Cassandra trounced him), and planning for their menus for the finale. That was all fine.

The silence was not. 

It was maddening and far more stressful than the entire fucking competition. Fortunately or not, it didn't take Varric long to realize what the problem was: he missed Cassandra. 

Missed talking to her, missed discussing technique and cooking styles and types of cuisine. He missed her wit and intelligence. He missed her voice.

He just fucking missed _her_. 

Funnily enough, the realization wasn't that shocking. Nor the ramifications. It just was. So he carried on like usual. He tried to apologize a few times, tried to start conversation. It never worked, and part of him knew it wouldn't.

Still, he tried. 

Still, she ignored him. 

The only time she spoke to him was for the 'farewell' dinner the producers set up for them. She made light conversation, obviously relying on prompts from the film crew. That had nearly killed him. 

When it came time to cook for the finale, to present three courses worthy of their own restaurant, Varric started to realize several things. 

He stood at his station, staring at Cassandra's profile for a long moment. He had no idea what she was cooking, merely watched as she started prep. 

She was focused. More focused than he had ever seen her. She was a whir of activity, knife flying across the cutting board with precision, mentally keeping track of all she needed to do. Yet there was an ease about everything, something else he had never seen before. He thought she was stunning. 

Varric looked down at his prep list. He didn't deserve to win. She did. He knew that. The producers and judges knew it too. 

He wondered if she knew it though. 

Glancing at her again, the way her brow furrowed slightly as she whisked cream for her dessert, he doubted she did. Varric came to a decision, so he sat aside his list, and made himself look busy. That was easy enough. When the judges circled through, asking questions about their dishes, he told them what they wanted to hear. 

“You seem quite calm, Varric.”

He grinned. “I have a good plan, I think.” 

The time ticked down, Varric didn't plate anything. That earned an interesting reaction from the judges, all murmuring together. Everything Cassandra set out looked spectacular. It was interesting to see some flourishes on the dishes, something she usually lacked. Her plating had definitely improved. 

She went first, presenting a mouthwatering three course meal. The judges raved. Varric smiled. 

When it came time to present his own creations they received three empty plates. 

“Interesting,” one of the judges frowned. “I've heard of minimalist plating, but this a bit absurd. Is there any reason you don't have any food?” 

“Yes.” He glanced back at Cassandra, her brows creeping up toward her hairline. “Because I don't deserve to win. Cassandra does.”

“I have never met a finer chef,” he continued, well aware of Cassandra boring a hole in his back. “She is professional and talented and I can't imagine someone who deserves this more.” 

The judges whispered together, unsure of how to deal with this curve ball. That was one thing Varric cold take away from this whole thing, he'd done something no one else had. What more could he ask for than that? Other than Cassandra's forgiveness, but he wasn't entirely sure he had a right to that. 

Turning around, Cassandra's face was still a mask of shock and disbelief. 

“I'm not asking you to forgive me for what I said, because it was.. it was terrible. But I am truly sorry I hurt you. If I could take it back, I would. I just wanted you to know that.” 

“Please, shut off the cameras,” Cassandra asked. The producers nodded, a couple going to converse with the judges. But Cassandra wasn't done speaking. 

Her jaw tightened and Varric knew she was angry. “I demand another chance. We can make new menus. I don't care.”

“I'm not going to cook today, Cassandra.” 

She swung her gaze toward him, eyes narrowed. “This is not a win, Varric. This is you handing it to me, and I do not want that. How can I say I have earned this if I am not truly competing? You cannot do it this way, you have no right.” 

“You would've won anyway. We both know it.”

“You don't understand.” She shook her head, and looked away. The producers and judges continued their talk, and the minutes ticked by slowly as they tried to come to a decision.

“We've decided to let it stand it,” the producer said. “Cassandra will be awarded top chef. Everyone find their marks, we need to finish filming.” 

When they called it a wraps, they swept Cassandra off for post-show interviews, obviously trying to get her to smile. She would not. He didn't get a chance to speak with her again as they ushered him away for his own interviews. 

Varric didn't get a chance to speak with her at all. When he returned to the house to pack his things, she wasn't there. He debated leaving a note, telling her to call him when it was over, when the show had finished airing on TV and they were free of their contracts. 

He didn't though. He knew she wouldn't call. So he shuffled out to the waiting car that would take him to the airport and his flight home. 

 

***

 

Weeks passed, the show aired, and Varric got praise from his friends. He wasn't allowed to cook at the restaurant, wasn't really allowed to show his face much. Nor could he tell anyone about the outcome. Though as the weeks ticked by his friends got more and more excited. It was so strange to see his life on television, unreal. 

He wasn't sure how the fight and slap would be painted, wasn't sure how much they would use. It just so happened the night it was going to air, he had the group crowded at his place. Thanks to Merrill. 

Everyone was watching happily, but Varric could barely look at the TV. Waiting for the moment to come. Returning from a break, the show picked up back at the house. Right in the middle of the fight. 

“Just so we're all clear,” Varric said as things were getting more heated on screen. “I'm well aware I am a complete and utter dick.” 

“Well,” his voice mocked on screen. Varric covered his face, maybe if he tried hard enough he could will a sinkhole to swallow him up. “Not everyone can be as precise as you, Cassandra. Because some of us choose to cook from the heart. With love. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” 

The sound of Cassandra slapping him was drowned out by Merrill's shocked gasp. She turned on him, eyes shining with disappoint.

“Varric, how could you?” 

“I already said I was a dick.” 

“Yes, but you like Cassandra! How could you say such a cruel thing to her?” 

“Look, they prodded us for a good show. They always wanted us to go for it… so I went for it.” 

“I can't believe you,” Merrill sighed. “You lit up every time she was in the room, it was plain as day that you care for her. Then you go and say something like that.” 

She shook her head sadly, and Varric couldn't take it. He stood up from the couch, waved off everyone's questions, and headed to the kitchen. It was usually a place of solace, somewhere to clear his head. Only now it reminded him of Cassandra.

Fantastic. 

 

***

Varric wasn't excited when it came time for the finale to air. It meant returning for a party. It was a chance to reunite all the constants, follow-up with Cassandra as she started the task of building up a restaurant. 

The idea of seeing her again… hurt. The idea of not seeing her again hurt more though. So he packed his bags and headed back to Val Royeaux.

The venue for the party was done up with twinkling lights and was lushly decorated, absolutely befitting of Orlais. It was good to see most everyone again, meet their friends and family. Varric had come alone, mainly because he didn't want to deal with the hassle of one of his friends trying to get him to reconcile with Cassandra.

He had tried enough. She had to know where he stood. If she wanted to talk, he would be there. 

Though it was difficult to stay away when she was dressed in red. The cocktail dress was tight, but not too tight, folds of fabric draping over her body and accentuating curves he hadn't been fully aware of until that moment. One shoulder was bared, exposing a long, graceful neck and elegant collarbone. 

She was divine and he was a fool.

As the night wore on, Varric made small talk with those in attendance. Still Cassandra made no move to talk to him, hell he wasn't even sure she knew he was there. 

It wasn't until things were winding down, when all the show obligations had been taken care of, that she came to him. She had a glass of champagne in each hand, held out one to him as she stopped in front of him. 

She smiled gently when he took it from her fingers.

“Thanks.” 

They were silent for a long moment. Varric knew she wanted to say something, so he waited. For her, he'd wait forever. 

“Why did you do it?” she finally asked. 

“Do you mean in regards to what I said? Or the final?” 

“Both.”

He sighed, drained his glass of champagne. “They were always looking for a spectacle. Always pushing me into goading you. That isn't an excuse, it's just how it was. That day I was frustrated, angry with them. Then I took it out on you.” 

Varric scrubbed a hand down his face. “I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Cassandra. Done a lot of shit I'm not proud of. But please know that on a long list of fuck-ups, that is the first thing I would change if I could.” 

He looked up at her, willed her to understand how truly sorry he was. She remained stony faced. 

“And the final?” 

“You deserved to win. The judges usually had their heads shoved so far up their asses, I thought I would save them the trouble of figuring out which was up.” 

Cassandra pressed her lips together, tried not to laugh. That bolstered him. 

“I know what I said before, but it wasn't true. It was only meant to hurt. You love this, and it's so obvious. You take pride in your work, what you put out. You do it because you care, and it's a way for you to show that. You absolutely deserve to have your own restaurant.” He paused, debated. “The only reason I didn't put anything out for the final, wasn't just to give the title to you. To forfeit. I wanted to make you listen to me. So you might understand how sorry I was. How sorry I am.” 

She regarded him for a moment, head tilted while she thought. “I accept your apology, Varric. But I do not accept your forfeit.” 

“Looking for a rematch then?”

“No, not quite.” She paused, glanced down to her feet. “I thought I might offer you a job?” 

“A job?” 

“Yes. I need chefs to work in the restaurant, do I not? I know that I can be a good leader, that I have the technical skills. But I need chefs who can think outside the box... who are not afraid to question.” 

Varric smiled. “That's kind, but don't sell yourself short. Your final menu was amazing. Inventive.”

“You inspired it.”

“I did?” he asked, eyebrows lifted. He hadn't expected that.

“When I was putting it together, I kept asking myself, 'what would Varric do?'” She huffed out a laugh, nervous. He could see a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. 

“That's… flattering. Still though, you did it. All on your own. You don't need me, Cassandra.” It was the truth, she was capable and talented and could handle anything. He was just the jackass who lucked out enough to place second. 

“Perhaps I don't need you, but I want you.” 

“Oh,” he breathed. 

“I mean to say,” she rushed on, her face turning a deeper shade of pink. “You are very different from me, but it is not bad. It is quite good. We balance each other. I think together, we could perhaps… we could have something… nice.” 

“Besides,” she continued and finally met his gaze again. “I have missed you. We were friends. All this,” she gestured to the room, the cameras no longer filming. “It hasn't been nearly as much fun without you.”

“Let you in on a secret? I've missed you too.” He smiled up at her, which she returned. 

“So what do you say? Are you my first employee?” 

“I say: yes, Chef.” He held out his hand, and they shook on the deal. 

 

***

 

Cassandra fidgeted in her seat, knee jostling erratically. She just wanted it to be over with. 

“Calm down, it's going to be fine.” Varric shook his head beside her, watching her reflection in the mirror. She sighed. 

“I know, I'm just nervous.” With a final application of blush, Cassandra was deemed ready by the make-up artist and freed from the chair. 

“Why though? It's just an update.” Varric fell in step next to her, on her way to her get mic and battery pack. “They'll ask how it's going, you'll tell them wonderfully. They'll film some of the kitchen and the dining room. And voila, done.” 

“I know, but I don't like the cameras.”

Varric snorted. “Little late to admit that, don't you think?” 

She pulled a face, and was tempted to stick out her tongue. She refrained though. Behavior like that was not suited for the Executive Chef of a high class restaurant. She would save it for later, when there weren't any witnesses. 

The camera crew did exactly as Varric had said. They filmed the kitchens, mostly of Cassandra in action, and happy patrons in the dining room. In the year since the restaurant had opened, things had hardly stalled. It was always a constant stream of people vying for a table. It had been beyond her wildest dreams. 

When the crew got enough B Roll, they sat Cassandra down for the interview. Varric, along with most of the kitchen staff, crowded behind the cameras. The interview was fairly benign. Cassandra thanked the show for the opportunity, explained how thrilling it all had been. Her words were practiced but no less sincere. 

“There's also a familiar face working in your kitchen, isn't there?” The host asked.

“There is.” Cassandra smiled as the camera panned over to Varric, leaning on one of the counters. 

“That's right, it's the jackass. Surprise!” He smiled and waved at the camera. 

Cassandra tried not to laugh, turning her attention back to the host.

“I also hear there is an announcement to be made?” The host looked a little too eager, and Cassandra's eyes went wide.

“I'm not sure what you're talking about?” She glanced toward Varric, who was positively preening. Of course he had let it slip. The snake. He would get an ear full later. 

“Oh, go on, Chef! Don't leave 'em hanging!” 

She sighed and wrinkled her nose at him. “I'm not surprised this is your doing.”

If possible his smile grew wider. She also noted several of her traitorous staff chuckling behind him.

“Well, Chef? Is there something you would like to share?” The host prompted, a smile tugging the corner of their mouth. 

“I don't wear it in case I lose it but…” Cassandra withdrew a thin chain from inside her crisp white chef coat, and held up a gold band set with a glittering diamond.

“Varric and I are engaged. He proposed last week.” She smiled despite herself, felt her face flush. Her staff cheered. 

“That's surprising,” the host said once things quieted down again. “Considering your tumultuous history on the show.” 

“We were never painted in the best light, not together. Behind the scenes was different, and things are good now. We're very happy.” She held up the ring again, smiled. 

“And we're happy for you! How did he propose? I'm sure the audience would love to hear about it.” 

“Well, it was simple. Which I liked it. I don't think it was even his original plan?”

“It wasn't,” Varric interjected. “But best laid plans and all that. You said yes, so the method can't be faulted.” 

Cassandra laughed, shook her head at him.“But it was my first day off in, I don't even know how long, he let me sleep in. Then he made me breakfast in bed. The box, with the ring nestled inside, was sat next to a small clutch of flowers.” 

She couldn't help but smile at the memory. “It was very sweet, and absolutely perfect.” 

When the interview wrapped up, and Cassandra returned her mic and battery pack, she went in search of Varric. She found him loitering by the pantry.

“Nice interview, Chef.” 

Cassandra tsk'd at him, shoved his shoulder. “You could have warned me.” 

“What? You're not ashamed of me now, are you?” 

“Hardly.” She took his hand in both of hers, fingers tracing the cuts and burns that marred his skin. “But I would have been prepared. I must have sounded like a fool.” 

“You sounded good to me.” He smiled up at her. “Besides, think of all those poor souls that cluttered the messages board when the show was airing. You've just settled many heated debates.” 

“What debates?” 

“You never read them?” Varrric laughed. “Isabela lived for that shit! Half the people were betting on when you'd take a knife to me, they were gratified when you smacked me, the other half were waiting for us to sneak off to a supply closet.”

“They were not!” She looked at him, waiting for the joke. He was serious. Oh, Maker. 

“They absolutely were. I ignored it, because at the time it hit a little too close to home. You know how it is, all that pining.” 

“Although,” he drawled, stepping a little closer. “Considering the place is closed for the rest of the day. I would like to point out there happens to be a supply closet right here.” 

“Pantry,” she corrected.

“Close enough.” He shrugged. 

“See, this is why you didn't win,” she laughed. “You don't know the difference between--” Her words were cut off as Varric pulled her down for a kiss, his mouth slanting against hers. 

The next thing she knew they were stumbling through the door. If anyone came looking for either them, they weren't aware. And if they had to repair a broken shelf in the morning, well, at least no one asked any questions.


End file.
